Paranoia

One of my more paranoid clients came by for a chat this morning.

Normally client paranoia concerns what business partners might be up to, or feckless children, or even what we bankers might be doing with all that hard-earned/inherited cash. This chap, unusually, was losing sleep over his love life.

M is a sweet boy - into jazz, golf and croquet. Has never done anything useful in life, but then has never done anything destructive either. A straightforward example of the British inheriting class.

And he's met a woman.

'That's great,' I said, wondering what he really wanted to talk about. Poor portfolio performance, presumably.

There was a pause.

'I hope so,' he said guardedly. 'I don't know. I'm not very experienced. Only had two... g-girlfriends before.'

He's 26, and perfectly good looking. Not particularly shy. The only reason he hasn't let himself go more freely with the fairer sex is paranoia. He's terrified of losing his inheritance to some fly-by-night Jezabel.

'What if she's just after child support?' he blurts out after I've failed to find an appropriate answer. 'Some girls are, aren't they? They do their research and find some rich idiot, then - bam!'

'But I thought you said she was a nice girl.'

'Oh, I really don't know anything about women.'

'Well...' I tried to think of a delicate way to put it. 'If you take it slowly... And make sure you use a condom...'

'There are ways round that,' he said, dismissively. 'You know what happened to Boris Becker.' (I didn't, but I looked it up later - how devilish) 'She might prick the condom with a needle. Or slit it with her nails... Or get me in such a... froth I say to hell with it and...'

M was very red-faced by this stage. It was painful to watch. Mind you, a mischievous part of my brain was wishing my secretary would walk in. Would have been priceless.

'I'm very fertile,' M added uncertainly. I didn't ask how he knew.

'Have you talked to your family about her?'

'No, of course not. I couldn't talk about this with them. Anyway, they want me to marry Elizabeth.'

'What exactly do you want from me?' I asked.

'Do you think I should trust her?'

'Yes.'

'Oh God,' he moaned, pressing his face into his hands. I've never seen anyone look so miserable.

Perhaps he's gay and this is all semi-conscious evasion.